


Small Victories

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First War with Voldemort, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-13
Updated: 2005-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is content to take victory where he can find it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Victories

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to mousapelli for all the help.

_Tap, tap, tap_. Sirius watches Remus's tanned finger tap against the white paper of the cigarette, watches the ashes fall like out of season snow onto the ground as Remus leans back in the chair and lets his arm dangle over the side, completely ignoring the ashtray Lily set out for them when she forced them onto the porch because she didn't want the smell of smoke permeating the new house.

Remus takes a deep breath and slouches down, eyes fluttering closed, long, pale lashes casting a delicate filigree of shadow on his cheeks. Sirius watches him, the ache in his chest preventing him from breathing at all, because Remus looks so relaxed, so content, and Sirius hates that he is not the cause of that contentment.

Remus takes another long, slow drag on his cigarette, lips wet and red on the white paper, and Sirius draws a choking breath, full of smoke and all the words he wants to say.

Remus offers him the fag and says, "Don't," and Sirius puts his lips around where Remus had his, and wonders when he got predictable.

"I wasn't going to," he mutters, and that wins him a lazy smile, the dimple on the left side of Remus's mouth taunting him.

"Yeah, you were." Remus reaches out and takes the cigarette back. Sirius slides his fingers along Remus's, warm in the humid air of the summer evening. Remus lets himself be touched, which is a small victory.

"You don't know that."

"I know _you_ ," Remus says, "and I could see it on your face."

And that sets a little flare of hope fluttering in Sirius's heart, or stomach, or possibly someplace a bit lower, because it means even though his eyes appeared to be closed, he was watching Sirius through lowered lashes, the way Sirius is watching him.

*

Boys' night out is no longer the fun it used to be, Sirius thinks, watching Peter sink the eight ball, giving him and James the victory. It's not the losing that bothers him -- well, not much -- but the way Remus avoids touching him, as if this _thing_ between them is infectious or dangerous. The more Remus moves away, the more Sirius wants to touch him. They spend the night in a dance of advance and retreat, and the Muggle beer, combined with the scent of Remus's skin, is making Sirius's head spin a bit now.

At least he gets to enjoy the view when Remus bends over the billiards table to take his shot, and he knows his arse isn't half bad either. He wiggles his hips a little when it's his turn, and after sinking the first two balls he aims at, he glances over his shoulder to catch Remus looking, and looking away, a faint flush staining his thin cheeks.

When Remus mutters something about needing fresh air, Sirius ignores the girls attempting to attract his attention and follows Remus outside into the night. Remus is sucking in deep breaths, and Sirius slings an arm around his shoulders before he can move away, presses his face into Remus's hair, which now smells of equal parts smoke and sweat.

"Gerroff," Remus mutters, pushing at him, but Sirius doesn't let go, just trails his fingers along the nape of Remus's neck, enjoying the slight shiver Remus gives him in response.

"Come on," he whispers, his lips pressed to Remus's ear, so close it may as well be a kiss. "Let's go back to my flat and--"

Remus shoves him away now in earnest. "Stop it, Sirius. Please."

"Why?"

"Because I'm asking you to."

"But _why_?" He doesn't care that he sounds like a petulant child.

"Because it's too dangerous."

"I don't care that you're--"

"Maybe you don't, but don't you think James might? Or Peter? Oh yeah," he says, his voice bitter, "not only is Lupin a werewolf, he's a woofter, too. He's buggering Black, did you know? Perverts."

"James wouldn't care."

Remus shrugs and fumbles in his pockets for a fag. "Easy for _you_ to say." He puts the cigarette in his mouth and Sirius lights it, the smooth motion of their interaction unconscious after so many years of friendship, and he wonders how they'd move together in bed, Remus above or beneath him, skinny legs spread wide, head tipped back to expose his throat and that wicked, teasing mouth slack with desire.

"Remus--"

"Of all the bad ideas you've had -- and you've had your share -- this is the worst." He pokes the air with his cigarette in emphasis, and Sirius takes it from him, puts it between his lips. Remus watches his mouth with something that looks like hunger, and Sirius feels a hot thrill race through him.

"I disagree."

"You would."

Remus reaches out for the cigarette and Sirius grabs his wrist, sliding his fingers along the pale blue-green veins beneath paper-thin skin. He can hear Remus's breath hitch, and with his other hand he cups his cheek, draws his face near, so close they're passing the same smoke-filled air between them, but before Sirius can close that final distance, Remus Apparates away with a soft pop.

Sirius curses softly, chalking up one more loss for the evening, and walks back into the pub.

*

Sirius pretends he's having a good time at the party, because Frank is a friend and he's happy for him and Alice, but mostly he's watching the door, waiting for Remus to arrive. Remus, who'd left on some mysterious errand two days ago and hasn't been heard from since, but who'd promised to be back for the engagement party.

Sirius takes another sip of sickeningly sweet punch and allows himself to be spun out onto the dance floor by Heloise Barnett. When the song is over, she backs him into an alcove with a skill he finds impressive, and he wonders for a moment if she'd tell him how she managed it, so he could use it on Remus.

When he's finally free of her, he spots James and Frank having a heated conversation with Remus himself, who must have arrived with he was occupied with Heloise. Remus looks awful, his face drawn and pale, purple smudges under his eyes, and his hoarse voice quivers with suppressed rage and grief when he says, "They killed them all. I wasn't in time. They were all dead when I got there."

Sirius feels his heart kick hard against his ribs, and he and James exchange a glance, concern clear in James's eyes. James presses a bottle of whisky into Remus's hand and Sirius leads him outside into the garden.

Remus takes a swig from the bottle and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. His voice is dull when he says, "The Stantons, just like our information said. All of them, dead. If I'd been there ten minutes earlier--"

"You'd be dead, too." Sirius grabs the bottle, takes a drink himself, anything to wash away the vision forcing itself on his brain, of Remus lying wide-eyed and dead on the floor someplace. "Thank fuck you're not." He fists a hand in the thin material of Remus's shirt and pulls him close, pressing their mouths together in a desperate, fearful kiss.

Remus kisses him back hungrily, thrust and curl of tongue on whisky-soaked tongue, the scratch of stubble against warm, sweaty skin. Sirius moans into the kiss, and that seems to snap Remus out of his daze. He jerks away, but Sirius refuses to let him go now that he's got him.

"Remus, _please_."

"This is why we can't-- We're fighting a fucking war. We're _losing_ ," Remus says, his voice a harsh rasp hardly louder than their ragged breathing. "It's too dangerous."

"That could have been you," Sirius replies, tightening his grip on Remus's shoulder. "It could have been me. Any day, any time. We need to take what we can, while we can." He slides his hand around the nape of Remus's neck, leans forward to press their foreheads together. "There are so many other things to be afraid of, Remus. Why are you so afraid of this?"

Remus opens his mouth and closes it, and his eyes, as well. He looks tired and grey and too young to look so old. "Because it means nothing," he says so softly that Sirius almost doesn't hear, though he can feel Remus's warm, whisky-scented breath against his lips. "Because it means everything."

Sirius breathes him in, hardly daring to hope as the moment stretches. Remus kisses him, then, hard and fierce, and Sirius knows he's finally won. For the moment, he is content to take victory where he can find it.

end


End file.
